Heroes: The Beginning
by constellationz
Summary: After the horrific outbreak and tragedy following the incident at the Sullivan Bros Carnival, Peter Petrelli doesn't know where to go from now on. But after being revealed foreboding prophetic paintings by Matt Parkman, everything is about to change. To save the world he must do everything in order to achieve that goal, to sacrifice and to make amends with himself and his foes. Her
1. Volume One, Chapter 1: Exhortation

_Destiny… how does that prepare us for what's to come? _

_The world is falling apart. How does the human mind react to such calamity? How do our instincts operate – do we run? Do we hide? Do we call for help? Do we run through fire, dive into the sea? Or do we simply watch as everything in our midst falls apart? Destiny… is a funny thing. Because even though tragedy is imminent, there will always be a sliver of hope that will bring upon the saviours the world is counting on – hoping on and wishing for. _

It was dusk and the lights all over Brooklyn and the city were luminous as the unseeable stars in the sky. Traffic sounded and the usual drunk-people cries nearby echoed throughout the streets. New York was a magical place, and it was a city where people would come together as one. But not always. Because underneath all the ordinary activities that go by daily, there is something hidden beneath the individuals that roam seamlessly normal lives although possesses something unexplainable, something that transcends any laws of science and physics. People that were special. People who could do extraordinary things… people that can accomplish so much and change the world forever.

Peter stood just by the window in his near-empty loft, watching the streets… contemplating everything that ran through his mind. The death of his most beloved brother, the brother whom he had worshipped, adored… looked up to, gone. His niece who had attempted to expose her true identity… luckily that has been solved, thanks to the Haitian and some awesome excuse for the television viewers to believe. What else was left? Go back to being a paramedic and save lives? He always had a thrill when saving a life, saving a soul. But he wanted to change the world. Make a difference.

He raked his hands through his dark hair that seemed a little longer since that night at the carnival and sighed deeply. He fisted his hands on the frame of the window, wondering how everything came to this point. But then a hard, loud rap on the door interrupted his train of thought. He turned his head in confusion and furrowed his eyebrows. Who would come here so late at night?

He took a few steady steps toward his door and opened it to reveal a sweating Matt Parkman, Noah and his horn-rimmed glasses, and Mohinder with his gaunt expression and his dark, shadowy eyes. They didn't look happy. In fact, they had one of those fear look in their eyes, though determined. Peter hadn't seen them since that night in the carnival – and the day after that. He was perplexed to see them here out of the blue.

"What's going on?" Peter asked sternly, though curious to their arrival. They all pushed past him and Peter shut the door reluctantly and turned toward them. "Seriously? What's up?"

Matt was holding two canvas paintings, one looked recent and still wet and the other seemed dry enough. He held up the dried one, "Trouble is coming. It's happening again."

Noah paced around the room muttering incoherently, he didn't usually look on edge often, and it wasn't a good look. Peter was used to him all stoic and straight to business. Mohinder was biting his nails and eyeing the painting in distaste, tapping his fingers subconsciously on his thigh as he sat in the chair by the door.

Peter looked at the painting. The sky was crimson, featuring a wave in the middle of the portrait; it looked like a tsunami and it made Peter involuntarily shudder. In the background it looked like a city was in ruins, burning and smouldering with black ashes simmering in the sky. But what really unsettled Peter was the girl with her back facing the frame; her brown hair flew in the wind. She was standing in front of the wave, her hands stretched out as if to hug the world. Around her a hue of bright yellow surrounded her, like an aura. Then Peter noticed a silhouette of a man standing directly behind her, watching.

"You painted this?" Peter asked cautiously. He was eyeing the other canvas that was wet, and he realised that Matt was trying to obscure it from Peters view.

Matt nodded solemnly. "The other one… I don't think you want to see it." Matt and Noah exchanged glances.

Noah stopped pacing and stood beside Matt, Mohinder was still chewing on his nails, watching Peter carefully. Mohinder was more on edge than ever, something was bothering him and Peter had a feeling it wasn't of the paintings… but something else but he didn't want to dwell on that further.

"Peter…" Noah warned, but Peter snatched it from Matt's hands, not caring that the paint smeared on his fingers.

The painting was different. Not as dark as the other… but even more gruesome. Peter walked to the window, still holding on the canvas as he stared at it, unblinking. There was an eclipse featured through a night-sky view window at the corner of the canvas, and a body drenched in red ichor lay on the other side of the canvas, holding a cello. He knew who it was before giving it a second glance. A figure was standing above the body, casting shadows upon the woman with blonde hair; her eyes were wide with shock.

Peter glanced up, looking through his window but not really looking at it. He's grown fond of Emma ever since helping her adjust to her powers. He felt like he needed to protect her, like a brother would to a sister. She was innocent, she didn't deserve to die let alone be brought into this madness. She deserved to live a full and happy life even with her abilities. It was possible… He closed his eyes, opened them slowly and turned around. Shooting a long glance at all the men before him. He tapped on the dried canvas, "When did you paint this?"

Matt sighed, "Last night,"

Mohinder sat up from the chair, "Do you think it's possible that it's Sylar again? We already know what he's capable of…"

"It can't be him," Noah said clearly. Peter was surprised that Noah would come to Sylar's defences, knowing their messy history. "He's changed…" he shook his head. "There's a woman – a girl, we don't know who she is. It can be anyone… It's possible that the carnival residents have something to do with this."

There was a stretched silence before Matt spoke. "All we could glean from this is the solar eclipse from the second painting… That's two months from now."

"I can't let Emma die," Peter said. "She doesn't deserve it."

"Most people don't," Noah agreed.

Mohinder sprang to his feet. "Hiro… we need him… to go into the future. Just a peak won't hurt."

"We hardly know anything yet and besides he has trouble going through time as it is," Matt argued. He scratched his head, thinking hard. Then he sighed when his detective intercom device sounded with a voice announcing an address number to some street. "I've gotta go, I'm on duty." He nodded at the canvases. "Hold on to those, will ya?"

Peter gave a perfunctory nod and took the canvases, laying them against the wall. Mohinder and Noah announced their goodbyes, saving they had to go home. Noah put a hand on Peters shoulder, looking at him with some sort of sympathy, then he left and Peter was all alone.

He looked at the paintings again. At the girl with the golden aura and Emma's body covered in blood. An eclipse… and a burning sky. This is it. To save the world again. Isn't that what Peter wanted? But all he felt was a sense of dread. He would do anything to make the world a better place. But would it ever heal? Would the world ever mend itself, would people ever truly live in peace? Would they? Them? The special people. Would they ever earn that rightful freedom they all secretly desired… to live free. To make the world a better place. But there was always the darker side of a group. The people who would tear down bridges to get what they wanted. The hunger that grew inside them each day in search for power.

Peter wanted to save the world. But did he really? Was this all to distract the pain he felt inside from all the loss he endured?


	2. Volume One, Chapter 2: Introspection

How could you explain your whole life to someone who didn't understand? Empathy only goes so far – but nothing and no one could understand the convoluted life that Amanda had to suffer, day by day, a battle in the mind. _A battle with herself._ Balance has never existed with Amanda Melrose Amrita Singh.

Amanda sat in class gazing out of the window not bothering to concentrate what Ms Barnes was saying about organisms and cells. She saw the beauty in nature – how the autumn trees flow with the wind, how the clouds roam the azure sky and the birds outstretching their wings and living freely. She thought about that a lot, Freedom. Looking past the centuries how women fought for suffrage, how they were looked down. She thought about the coloured people back in the old days – it probably wasn't that long ago, but anyway, she thought about it. They fought for their freedom too. They were slaves back then – definitely in New Orleans. But the fact was the white people thought they were superior back then which was ridiculous. And then were the Germans… and the whole genocide predicament. Amanda was white – but her father was Indian and Fijian.

It was probably a protracted time before the teacher acknowledged the absence of Amanda's attention. Ms Barnes was saying her name and was about to walk over to her table when Amanda snapped back to attention.

"Amanda! Pay attention or you have detention for the whole week." Miss looked pretty furious and she was shaking her head in disappointment. Miss walked over to her table, everyone in the class was staring, and leaned over the table and spoke quietly to Amanda. "What's going on, Amanda?"

Amanda swallowed and bit her lip, "Nothing, Miss." Miss looked sceptical, she was smart enough to realise that something was bothering Amanda.

Miss walked away, but not before telling Amanda to pay attention. Amanda looked around shyly, not wanting to meet her classmates' eyes, though she caught a pair of blue ones from across the classroom – Jeremy. He looked away quickly when Amanda stared at him. That was odd, she thought silently.

The class bell rang and Amanda hastily packed her things and shoved them in her bag and was the first to walk out into the courtyard.

_Oh no, Oh no, don't look at me. Please don't. _

It wasn't her voice. It wasn't spoken aloud and she heard it quite clearly. Oh no, it was happening again. The voices.

_He looked at me, Oh god…_

Amanda frantically looked around her in the courtyard. She spotted a girl in a grade older than her, walking so fast and playing with her hands. The girl glanced furtively at a guy from across the courtyard, by the fountain.

_He's so cute!_

This was a different voice. A shrilly one.

All around her the classrooms rushed out with students. More voices overwhelmed her. There were male voices, and feminine ones.

_Math next period. Kill me. _

They weren't real, she told herself desperately. Ever since she went on anti-depressant pills, the voices were not talking in her mind again. Her dad was so concerned that Amanda had inherited his grandfather's schizophrenia.

_Fuck me dead, what's this chick doing standing in the middle of the quad?_

Amanda's heart pounded dangerously. She couldn't breathe. The voices over floored any rational thought that crept into her mind. She ran so fast, bumping into people on the way, her dark hair coming out of its ponytail.

_What the… Okay, don't say sorry then!_

_Arghhhhhhhhhhhhh! _The voice echoed throughout her mind, reverberating relentlessly to the extent of giving Amanda an awful headache.

They kept coming and coming. Bombarding her with these voices that were uncontrollable. She wished she had brought her pills here. They were here again…. And no way could she read their minds… No. It was all in her head. Maybe she did have schizophrenia. Maybe she was insane. It was impossible… crazy to even suggest that she was a mind reader. That was fictional stuff – not reality. Things like that didn't happen, and even if they did… She shook her head frantically, trying to push the thoughts out of her mind with vigorous force.

Silence met her and she could feel her body slacken, her heart steadying to a slow pace. She could breathe again and she hadn't realised she had leaned against a wall. Students milled around, few were glancing curiously at Amanda, some minding their own business and going to their next period.

The voices remained silent. For now.

_What to do I do now? _She thought. Amanda didn't feel at all in the mood to go to Chemistry. She wanted to lay here, against the cold hard wall by the tree that provided a little shade. She watched the students disappear by the minute and she calmed down till the courtyard was empty.

She heard some scuffling nearby and instinctively her head shot up at the sound. Then some laughter and giggling and some noise that sounded suspiciously like kissing.

"Amanda?" a familiar voice said. Amanda turned her head at the voice, near the hallway that led to the car pack. "What are you doing here?"

Amanda was shocked to see Madison with some senior dude together. But then again, Madison was kind-of the promiscuous type and she didn't care about school, hence why she skips most of her classes. She and Amanda were friends for some time, since they were in year 7.

The guy that was with her looked awkwardly between Madison and Amanda, wondering if he should just stand here or walk away. He chose to walk away and Madison whispered something in his ear that made him laugh. It made Amanda feel inexplicably dismayed.

"Uh, I didn't want to go to class?" Amanda said, looking down. If she did tell Madison what was going on, she'd think she was crazy and that Amanda ought to see some shrink.

Madison looked sceptical and swept her strawberry-blonde hair behind her. She sat down beside Amanda. "Seriously, what's going on? You look sick,"

Amanda shrugged nonchalantly, and racked her brain on what to say. She felt like Madison was frustrated with her for some reason and it made her feel upset. "I do feel sick. So, what were you doing with that guy?"

Madison turned her head slowly to where that guy was before. "Some guy," she said evasively, smiling.

"Okay."

_God… this girl can be annoying sometimes._

Amanda shifted on the floor uneasily at the sudden voice that was Madison's. She pivoted her head to Madison when the voice popped up and Madison furrowed her eyebrows, smiling sweetly.

"You okay, Mands?" she asked.

_Don't say anything, don't waste my bloody time._ _I don't careeeeeeeeeeee. Ugh, please just say you're fine and go fix up your own problems._

"I'm fine," Amanda said breathlessly.

_Freak._

"What did you say?" Amanda demanded harshly, her face paling despite the anger rising within. Her head throbbed.

Madison eyes widened.

_Shit. Did I say that aloud? _

"No. I heard it in my mind because I'm a freaking _freak_." Amanda's chin jutted involuntarily, her voice shaking. "And you think I'm _annoying?_" she laughed humourlessly as Madison recoiled. "Good luck with your baby, I know that the fathers Mr Blake's."

Madison's blue eyes welled with tears of horror and shock. She got up so quickly she stumbled on her feet and fell on the concrete, only to get up again. "How – how did you – know?" she spluttered. She didn't look so pretty now.

Amanda's lip trembled and she felt horrible, she felt ashamed, and she felt like a freak. Amanda got up and Madison took a step back. "You really are a freak, you freak," Madison spat, her cheeks red. "Don't come any closer!" it was funny, because Amanda was far from close.

Madison was walking away now, glancing back at Amanda and then walking faster. Amanda stood there, a ringing in her ears and palms full of sweat. In that moment, she knew. She knew she wasn't normal. But for some reason, she kept calling herself a freak, but she knew deep down she was something far more. She wasn't a freak at all – and when she climbed the fence out of school to go home – her dad was at work, he wouldn't be too happy she was truanting – she knew she was meant for something bigger in the world. It wasn't a thought; it was a feeling in her gut that churned and churned. And she didn't know where it came from.

This feeling… it ran through her veins.


	3. Volume One, Chapter 3: Independence

She remembered that night, how it all backfired the minute she had said those words to the camera, on live television: "This is Claire Bennet and this is attempt number… I guess I've kinda lost count" She remembered the horrified gasps from the News Anchors, and the journalists that were wide-eyed with shock and inched away from Claire as she healed every bone in her body, the wound on her face closing up. She saw Peter running, and her Dad… taking her away as she stood there, trying to say it was okay to the cameraman, to the lady who was reporting… but they were so scared.

She wasn't expecting that kind of response. She thought that if they understood… _knew_, well, she didn't know what she was expecting. After that, everything went downhill from there. She was constantly monitored by Sandra and Noah, literally on probation every minute she stepped out of her house to get to college. She once saw her dad tailoring her as she and Gretchen went to the mall. It was absurd – they didn't trust her at all. She had had enough. She was still mourning over Nathan, over the things that have happened… it was bizarre, she and her dad almost being drowned in a caravan while they shrink into dirt. What kind of life would she have if it were like this? Hiding, pretending to be something else, hiding the fact that she could regenerate from any wound, any injury, and the fact that she was invincible.

Peter hadn't spoken to her. Not properly anyway. But ever since that night, after that incident… she had felt this itching in the back of her mind, trying to tell her something – but she couldn't point out what. So Claire sat in front of the television, at her Dad's apartment after finishing dinner with Lauren and her father. The news was on and the news lady was talking about two people who wore masks that had stopped an attempted burglary at Citibank. They captured video shots from the security cameras displaying a person – possibly a woman, considering her slender body – she was wearing a black hood and was beating the crap out of some thief who had shot one of the bankers. The other vigilante was helping the banking employees and the hostages away. Claire could tell it was a male by his muscular physique – he was wearing a black helmet mask with a cape behind his back and black clothes. The women raised her arms in the direction of two burglars who entered the main banking room and then the security tape flickered off and the News Anchor women began continuing her report.

"You hardly ate much," She hadn't realised her Dad was standing beside the sofa she was laying on. She hardly acknowledged his presence, as if he wasn't there.

She had to move her legs so he could sit beside her. She sat up and muted the television with the remote, waiting for the inevitable intervention. Claire sighed half-heartedly, "I wasn't hungry."

"Liar, you're always hungry," he sat down and faced Claire with a smile. "Clearly there's something wrong."

She hated when he knew she was being bothered by something. He always knew. Claire still burned with anger at the memories of him always covering things up, doing things his way even though they were the right choices. But still, the right choices aren't always humane. That was his job, though. "If I tell you will you bring the Haitian over and meddle with my brain? Or some crazy thing to me to make me change my mind on how I perceive the world."

Claire couldn't look at him, so she distracted herself by watching the television but not really focusing on what was on. This rage at her father has been fermenting for quite a while and it was only a matter of time it will unleash from all the times that Claire had pushed it back down. Noah remained silent until he spoke quietly, "I'm not going to do that and you know it. I would never do that, Claire."

"Mmm sure," she ad-libbed, not looking at his face. "What about the insistent stalking? Huh, Dad? You don't trust me at all! You think as if I'm going to jump off the freaking Empire State Building and expose myself! I'm living in a panopticon, Dad!" then she looked at his cold, impassive face, she had tears in her eyes and was fisting her hands. "I don't want to live like this. I want…" she shook her head and gave a shuddered sigh.

"This is punishment, young lady, it still hasn't wrapped around my mind the fact that you would expose yourself to the world," he said calmly, a dark shadow seemed to pass over his face. Claire hadn't realised the bags under his eyes, as if he weren't getting much sleep.

Claire was annoyed, but she didn't raise her voice. "People deserve to know the truth, Dad," she insisted. "If there were, _hypothetically_, a secret organisation threatening to terrorise the city and leave thousands of children in danger, wouldn't you think those civilians have the right to know? Or be warned?"

Noah leaned his head against the sofa and closed his eyes, rubbing them wearily. "Yes, Clairebear, but this is different –"

Claire raked her blonde hair, aggravated. "_How?_" she demanded. "Any one of _us_ individually can destroy the world with just a flick of the hand – or – or a thought in the mind!" her voice cracked, but she moved on, undefeated. "We're dangerous! But some of us have the right to live freely. You don't get it dad… the feeling of being able to express ourselves…"

He wasn't listening, Claire realised. "You're naïve, Claire," he said, composed. He opened his eyes and exuded his usual professionalism. "Some of us from The Company are still processing the reality of people with powers! We're scared out of our minds!"

Claire stared at her dad, out of loss of words. Then she said quietly, "Are you scared, Dad?"

His shoulders sagged and he cocked his head and stared at his grown daughter who had become such a strong woman. She had grown into a woman who had challenged other people and didn't take any crap from anyone. She was strong and not because of her invincibility. "Not anymore," he said. "Given the circumstances we've faced…" he sighed. "I just want a normal life for you; you've even said it yourself…"

"But I'm not normal, Dad," she said.

"To live a full and happy life. Out of this mess… out of it all. To graduate college, major in… hell, I don't know, quantum physics! Do something you love…" he said wistfully, longingly. He was staring into space now, drifting into a future he couldn't see, but wanted to.

"Dad," she said loudly. "I thought you accepted my decisions, my choices…"

Noah was thinking now. About the future and what danger lies. "I just don't want to see you get hurt."

"I'm indestructible!" her voice cracked, her blue eyes glistened.

"I'm sorry, Claire –"

"What is it you're not telling me?" Claire asked, searching his face. "What is it, Dad?"

There was a stretched silence on the other side. Claire could tell there was something wrong. Then she leaned back, and she knew. She knew what was coming. She could see it in his eyes. "When?" she asked.

"We're not sure. Months, perhaps…" he looked down.

"Well, Dad, you can't stop me from bringing myself into this," she said. "My choices, my decisions, remember?"

He nodded slowly, understanding. "Okay,"


	4. Volume One, Chapter 4: Speciality

_I could see them. I could see the colours that surrounded them. Their emotions, their identity. I could see it all. _

Her eyes flashed brilliant, luminous colours flicking before her eyes. Colours of different kind for different people, colours of light and colours of dark, all-encompassing an individual. And she could see it – the colours churning in certain parts of the place of the heart, the brain, all around their bodies. It was beautiful sight to see, but not when she could feel one's pain and torment. The pain – it closed around her chest, pushing at it as she yelped and half-screamed in pain, as if feeling it within her soul. Sometimes it only lasted for a few seconds, sometimes more. And consequently, she would end up with a terrible headache and a fever. She learnt that it wasn't actually her pain, but someone else's. She learned how to control it.

Diana was jogging down a flight of stairs that led to the subway underground, taking a train home before her mother shouted at her. The Pennsylvanian spring air brought colour to her cheeks as her brown hair cascading down her shoulders. She was smiling at strangers that passed her, mingling about on their mobiles as they waited for their train to arrive. A plethora of colours flashing everywhere, zooming out of place as individuals ran, walked fast or moving parts of their body with velocity.

The screech and whistle of the train stopped, and Diana was ready to head home. She closed her eyes slowly, mentally restraining the pull of force that always compelled her to be unleashed, though she had the mental capacity to always shove it back down. Her blue azure eyes fluttered open and the colours disappeared, one by one. Despite the throbbing headache, she carried on, walking by the crowd that eagerly ushered in the train. She caught her reflection in one of the windows – and she stopped as she saw herself, that reflection of herself she dreaded to see – it was the reason she was frightened to look at herself in the mirror. With everyone else's' colour that surrounded them were bright, hers was dark. She looked at herself, time seemed to pause for a second, and she eyed the charcoal blackness that skirt around her. That anger fermented inside, and she glared at her reflection. She fisted her hands and turned away from the window, tears forming in her eyes. She went inside the train, clutching the metal rod because all the seats were taken.

She contemplated for moments – wondering if anyone were like her. There had to be, she thought. Diana knew she was special, and not the kind of special your parents tell you just to make you feel _good_, but a special as in she was capable of anything – holding the power that could change evolution. Besides, she dreamt every night the same dream: of two joined hands that emitted a powerful light. And in that same dream, it would always end in disaster. She never remembered that part, though. It was probably some psychological explanation – the part the brain deliberately blocks out because of trauma that you cannot face. Diana took a few classes on psychology in college, before she dropped out and had to take care of her dying father. She was only eighteen! It wasn't like she complained – her father was really sick and needed help, and her mother was spending her hours at work to pay for his medication. Diana liked to help people. She wanted to see everyone happy. Though the world can be anything but…

She felt a pang of pain that twisted inside her and immediately the colours exploded before her eyes. Blue, yellow, red, green… they were everywhere, blinding her like never before. She blinked twice, three times that led to excessive blinking. She swayed on the train that was moving with speed, all around her was a burst of colour – a litany of iridescent sparks that sprang out of everyone around her. Her heart pounding, sweat tricking down her spine and she felt hot – she could feel a fever forming as her body tried to attack that power that urgently wanted to unleash. She pushed it back down – trying hard to turn off the colours that visioned and appeared. She knew then, it was uncontrollable.

She racked her brains – anything that could help her rid of the colours. She tried to control it – like she always did, but it was fruitless. Then she focused on one particular segment of colour – orange. And she channelled it, channelled it to sort of only appear by itself. It was like time slowed then – and she felt her body relax with an impact so relieving – her body physically sagging. A man that sat before her – his aura was colours of orange. She managed to channel it by itself – eliminating all the colours but that. He was young – mid 20's with a clean suit. His aura was one that exuded stress; he seemed to be dreading something.

Diana swallowed. The aura still stayed – and she didn't know what else to do but keep on challenging it further or else all hell will break loose. The colours will burst again, and she was certain of it. The orange aura seemed to swirl and urged Diana forward, as if to take control of the colour. Her eyes glued to the cachemirine aura, and brought her hand up tentatively and she was astonished to see a fragment of colour pulling from the man's aura and hover above her hand. She looked down at the orb of orange colour that danced above her hand. She smiled slowly, and the orange colour reflected on her blue eyes.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph…" someone whispered. "What is that?"

Diana looked up, eyes wide. It was the man sitting before her; he took off his glasses, eyes stretched wide in shock. The lady sitting next to him looked up from her phone, and her jaw dropped. Diana noticed that they were staring at the orb of light hovering above her palm; she tried to render it to disappear – that didn't work. Nothing seemed to work. Her power was messing up – it felt wrong and different. It felt foreign to her. "I…" Diana trailed off, scared out of her mind. She frantically looked around – people were looking. Some teens were taking photos.

Panic seized her. Then and there, the orb shattered from her palm, blinding her with luminescence so strong that she piled over, staggering, and obscuring her eyes with her hands with vigorous force. There was a ringing in her ears and she was faintly aware of people crying – screaming. Energy… _control it. Control it. Control it._ _Control the energy_

She was lying on the dirty train floor and slowly opened her eyes. People were groaning. She didn't know whether to feel relieved – that the screaming stopped or that she didn't hurt anyone. Tears streaked down her porcelain face, sweat poured down her temples. Diana, attuned to the silence, got up on unsteady legs and swallowed down the bile that was riding up her throat. The man, she thought. She was hyperventilating; Diana couldn't control the increased heart rate that was over-load. The man… with the orange aura… laid stoic on the seat, his eyes were still open… but they were glazed white. No pupils, no irises… just white. He was dead. And everywhere around her people were covering their eyes… they seemed not to recover from the light.

The train stopped. Everything stopped. It was like the thread of normalcy was cut down. It was like the world ended. That nothing mattered anymore. Humanity was gone. Meaning was gone. It was like the light was sucked out her, replacing by darkness that contained the evil act of what she had done. She caused this. He was dead because of her. _Because of her power that existed in her blood and bones. _

"Devil," whispered someone. "Devil, devil, devil, devil,"

Diana was crying now – she looked around. One person removed their hands and was blinking hard, their stony eyes on Diana. They were muttering, a prayer, Diana didn't know. The train had stopped – but why weren't people ushering in? There was no time. She had to leave… She had to go. Wiping at her eyes hastily, she tore her gaze away from the dead man.

"Devil…"

She ran.

"Devil."

She fled.

She ran the streets of Pennsylvania. Her phone buzzed, she brought it out furiously and threw it on the pavement. Night had settled in. Darkness in the sky, in the atmosphere. It had been hours and she was exhausted.

"Devil,"

She bumped into someone with an aura of hazy violet. They stared at her she thought silently, _they know. They know of what I've done_. She caught the bus which was half-empty. Put her hoodie up and sat at the back and she sobbed, sobbed and sobbed.

She didn't know where to go. She couldn't go home. She stayed in that bus with an unpleasant odour, slept until dawn broke and the bus driver poked her and told her to wake up. She was at the end of the trip; she was at the end of life.

"Where am I?" she asked the driver, opening her eyes groggily. The painful memory of yesterday fresh in her mind.

The television in the bus was still on, emitting static sounds. The news reporter reporting a death of a 26 year old man on Harrisburg station, Pennsylvania. He had children, 2. Diana felt her blood run cold and the overwhelming rush of guilt, regret and resentment towards herself.

"New York," the bus driver said dryly. He looked at Diana with an odd sense of peculiarity. Diana looked at his aura, the colours of tawny brownish colour.

She looked at the screen again. This time she felt numb. She got up from her seat, pushing the bus driver away and running for miles. Traffic was everywhere – yellow cabs beeping as she weaved her way through. Nothing else mattered anymore.

She ran until her legs were sore. New York was huge, and there was still traffic. There was a crowd surrounding an ambulance. She curiously wedged herself between two people and saw paramedics giving compressions to a young girl. Diana saw that it wasn't helping; the aura surrounding the girl was stark white… the colour that surrounded the man that died in the train. She saw that some of the crowds were taking photos and Diana felt a surge of anger, she fisted her hands and let some power rush out. She gasped as she saw the flashes of the onlooker's phones spark, causing the phones to burn from people's hands. She didn't know how she did it. It was like the energy that existed within the flash went overdrive to the extent of burning their electronic devices. The crowd gave puzzled looks and one of the paramedics look up curiously, then it was replaced with a pained face as he realised nothing could help the poor girl.

Diana felt woozy in a matter of seconds. All around her the crowd fluttered in and out, the sounds of traffic faint, the people's gasps reverberating through her… colours exploded and it was too strong to manage now. She collapsed on the hard ground. And saw nothing.

**Unedited.**


	5. Volume One, Chapter 5: Converge

Peter had decided to go to work anyway. Although not before checking up on Emma to see if she were okay, turned out she was happier than ever. It was a crisp morning, and Peter was sipping on his coffee as he walked into the hospital where he works at, wearing his paramedic's uniform and nodding at the people he knew. He leaned against the receptionist desk as he waited for Emma to finish up some paperwork and stared at the television in the top left corner of the wall. The news report man had been reporting on a death of a man whose cause of demise had been unknown and the report man had stated that his death was some sort of peculiarity and that doctors were figuring out what the problem was. Witnesses have said that they haven't remembered much, only of a women in her late teens had been a possible culprit.

"Peter!" a soft voice said, although it was a little shrilly due to the fact that Emma was partially deaf.

Peter smiled at her arrival, his eyes glinting as he embraced her. "Emma, how are you?" he searched her face.

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" she said, giving Peter an odd look. "What's up with you today?"

He sighed. "I just want to see if you were okay, Emma. That's all,"

She smiled hesitantly, her eyes cautious as she put her hand on his arm. "I'm fine, really," she laughed quietly.

"Good,"

Just then Hesam, Peter's paramedic partner, plodded up toward him carrying his medical bag and said, "We've got a girl in 5th Avenue on the brink of death, work your magic, Peter,"

Peter grabbed his med bag, pronounced Emma his goodbyes and that he'll see her later, and followed Hesam into the ambulance truck. Peter had managed to acquire Mohinder's artificial strength, and he hoped desperately it would be of help to help this girl. They drove in full speed, the blaring of the truck bellowing throughout the New York streets. It was good to be at work, again, Peter thought. Time to save some lives.

It was too late. When they had arrived at the accident, the debris of the car wreck was a little far back and the girl had apparently flew out of the window when it had collapsed against one of the buildings, and her body lay limp on the concrete floor, blood gushing out of the wound in her leg which some steel had punctured through. She had lost a lot of blood and Peter had given compressions although he knew it was too late. Hesam grabbed Peter's arm and said in a pained and mournful voice, "She's gone, Peter," he said. "She's gone."

Peter closed his eyes. When he opened them everyone had surrounded her, their phones were suddenly dropped to the ground. He had heard the gasps from the people – but it didn't matter. Because a life had been lost today. A life he could've saved –

A girl from the crowd with brown hair that flew all over the place – it was stuck to her forehead and had a few twigs in them – suddenly and unexpectedly collapsed to the ground. Peter had sworn her eyes had flashed a brilliant gold – and she felt with a crack. Everyone took a step back and Peter was on his feet, Hesam had covered the dead girl's body with a sad expression, and Peter had went over to the girl, felt her forehead, her pulse, she was alive. Although she was burning hot. The minute his skin had come in contact with hers, burned his with a scorching sensation.

Time had went quick. He had put the fallen girl on a gurney, and Hesam had taken the deceased girl in the ambulance to contact any relatives, the girl's parent's bodies had been found further back – they had already been taken care of.

Peter watched the girl that had collapsed – now in the hospital lying on the bed – through the window outside her room. They had identified her as Diana Maddox who lives originally in Pennsylvania. Her parents had been contacted and were now sitting inside with her. Diana was in a severe coma. The doctors say her being in a sudden coma was unusual, although they specified it as Intracranial. Peter didn't know beyond that, although they had said she may be in a coma for a protracted time – possibly a month.

Peter kept watching her though. There was something inexplicably enthralling watching her, she seemed so familiar but not at the same time. Her long brown mousy hair was draped around her angular face, the tendrils curling at the ends. Her parents sat there, her mother was holding her hand and her father… well, he sat in a wheelchair and looked weary. He didn't seem to be all there.

"The deceased girl's relatives had checked in and have confirmed her," a voice said behind Peter. Peter looked over at Hesam. "Her name was Madeline Smith. She was only fourteen years old… and she was on her way with her parents to an award ceremony, she was supposed to get an award for her academics…" Hesam lamented, looking at the window with his hands in his pockets.

Peter averted his eyes and exhaled. Experiencing death from perspective was the hardest thing, and not saving them was worse. It didn't get easier, too. His job was to help and save people, although lately there had been nothing but death meeting him at the end of the road. "May she rest in peace," Peter murmured.

Hesam patted Peter's shoulder, sighed and then walked off. Peter turned his gaze at Diana through the window one more time, and then walked off down the silent hallway.

Even after everything – Peter couldn't find a way to find solace but saving people's lives. That hadn't worked, anyway. Lately he had withdrawn from any social environment – had been spending his time at matt's interpreting his paintings. But Peter wanted to take a leap of faith and continue with his life even if it was without Nathan. Nathan had been his hope, his strength, his saviour even though Nathan had hardly shown his affection. Although Peter knew Nathan had cared too much about him, and that was somehow threatening so he had disguised his love with a façade of arrogance and coldness.

Now Peter understood why Nathan had done that. Because getting too attached would ultimately ruin you. It had ruined Nathan in the end.


	6. Volume One, Chapter 6: Prevaricator

Amanda had walked home; she had jumped the gates out of her school, walked through the muddy alleyway that she usually trudged through to get to school, and went home, shoved in her house key and walked inside. No one was home yet. Dad was at work and the House Keeper usually left around this time.

Amanda's house was impeccably clean. Though, it was bare and boring. One would think this house was unused, unoccupied because of the lack of personal photos on the walls. There was lovely furniture, leather couches sprawled on a dark brown rug. There were no frames featuring photos of Amanda's family. After all, it was just her and Dad. Her mother left her father when she was born. He hardly ever talks about her, but Amanda could see the haunting and distraught look in his eyes, shadowing his past. All Amanda knows is that she had blonde hair and blue eyes. Just like Amanda.

It didn't bother her sometimes. being with just her dad. Although she had that sense of loneliness that came to her sometimes - she had always imagined having a mother being there for her when Amanda had wanted to talk about girl things. It didn't mind, at times. Her dad was all she needed, despite him being at work most of the day.

Amanda padded into her room; her breathing was increasing by the minute. She had to relax. Hastily opening her draws, shuffling for her medication, she grew panicked when she couldn't find the little container. Even though the voices were gone, her head throbbed and it was only a matter of time when the voices invaded her mind. She grew frustrated. She slumped against the cabinet, the handles of the cabinet stabbing her back; she slowly went down on the floor and sobbed.

"I don't want to be like this," she whispered to nobody, just herself. And right now, _she_ wasn't the best person to be talking to. Her lips trembled and silent words escaped her lips, mouthing the word repeatedly, _"Help."_

She didn't know how long she'd stayed there, on the floor in her room with the door opened. There was no pretending that she couldn't hear the words in her mind. There was no pretending that she wasn't different. Life was a mystery, and this thing… this thing that has been happening to her had to be solved.

Then, she heard her dad's car sliding against the gravel just outside. She heard the beep of the car as he clicked the button to lock it. He heard the key jabbing in the lock and heard his footsteps. "Manda?" he called, his nickname for Amanda. She heard the thud of his suitcase and imagined him dropping it and untying his tie.

She got up reluctantly and unsteadily, wiped her eyes even though they were dry and walked out into the living room. "Hey dad," she greeted him. Her dad was handsome for his age with dark smooth skin and sharp eyes that resembled such wisdom.

He scanned her appearance, suddenly worried. His brows knitted and he came over to her and kissed her forehead. "You okay?" he asked. He pulled away when Amanda said nothing. "Have you been taking your pills?"

"I can't find them," she said in a small voice.

"Do you need them, at all?" he asked, looking weary.

She didn't speak because just then his phone had rung. Sighing, he brought out his phone and answered it, giving Amanda a kiss again on the forehead and walking away, speaking in a professional manner on the other line.

Her mind reeled. She hoped the voices wouldn't appear and thankfully, they didn't. She walked down the hall, passing her dad's office when she suddenly halted in her tracks. Her father was speaking in hushed, urgent voices on the phone. The asperity of his tone caused her to lean in, and listen. She was compelled to – she needed to know what the hell was going on.

"We can't – she can't, we can't leave!" he had been saying. "Noah, Noah! I've made a life here in Australia, and you want me to pack up and leave? No I will not, no! –" his tone was rising.

Amanda couldn't hear what the man, she assumed his name was Noah, was saying but she could hear the furious tone of her father proceed. "Yes – I understand… that isn't my problem, Noah. I left that job years ago… Yes, Yes, but you're not listening… Amanda's been doing okay!"

Amanda recoiled when her name had been mentioned. _What was this_, she thought? She pulled her palm over her mouth to restrain herself from making a noise. Her dad's conversation on the phone continued.

"I can't go back there, I can't… I can't go back there, _no_. She's there – _Barbara_! What if she, what if she wants to see her daughter? I can't allow that. Amanda…no, I don't want to bring this crazy world in her life. You of all people should know that – _You're not listening, Noah!"_ Amanda could hear her father's voice crack; she could imagine the tears in his brown eyes.

There was a stretched silence.

"Okay, okay. When do we leave?" she heard her father's defeated, regretful and painful voice. He had given up, she guessed. Whatever he was talking about with this Noah character… he had relinquished on this fight that she had no idea was about.

"Okay," her dad whispered.

The conversation was over, she thought. With her hands still covering her mouth, her face pale and gaunt, she hastily ran down the hall and into her room soundlessly. She was astonished at the business her dad and this Noah man had concocted. She always thought her dad had stayed out of trouble – he was just a mundane office worker, quiet and stoic most of the time. But they had mentioned her name. S_pecifically_, her name. - And Barbara… the name jolted in her mind, but she couldn't grasp it… '_What if she wants to see her daughter'_ was Barbara… her _mother_? Amanda relentlessly replayed the conversation over and over until her father knocked on the door.

"Are you decent?" he asked. His voice was the usual, deep tone. It was like the conversation had never happened.

She opened the door and stared at him. Searching his face for any clues of sadness or anger… anything at all. He smiled at her. Though it seemed off, she thought. He let himself in and sat on her bed. She stood before him, arms folded. "I heard everything…" she started to say, her voice tight. She turned away from his face.

"There's something you should know, Manda. About you, and your mother," he said gruffly.

Her head shot towards him and curiosity took over. "What?" she breathed. Was he… about to tell her everything? Did he know about her, about the voices? She sat down next to him, grasping his arm. He turned toward her with a sombre expression. "Do – do you know?" she whispered, eyes glistening. "About me?"

He nodded slowly, and his eyes were suddenly darker than usual. "There's a lot I've been keeping from you, and for that I'm sorry," he said plaintively. "And I'm afraid you won't forgive me, for what I've done in the past."

She wanted to hug him, or do something. Because the tone of his voice, the look on his face caused a surge of overwhelming sadness for him, an aching for him. Though she was overwrought with nervousness, and her chin jutted, "I… I can never hate you, dad. But I need to know, what's wrong with me. And how this all started… I need to know about my mum, dad. I need to,"

She waited patiently and he explained everything. From the beginning, "Before I came to Australia, I worked for a company… dealing with people with abilities that one cannot fathom…" Amanda's heart pounded, he moved on, "People that could read minds, control elements, people that could heal from any wound… You're one of them, Amanda. So was your mother,"

"I – I could read people's minds. It happened today," she breathed, talking too fast. "It was all too much."

He closed his eyes, talking hold of Amanda's hand. He continued, "Your mother… she was so special, like you. You inherited abilities. Though… she could do amazing things, too. I met her when I worked at the company… she was so full of life, she was so beautiful," he opened his eyes. "You look just like her, it pains me. Your mother… she could run like the wind,"

"You mean _super-speed_?"

"Yes… I wasn't meant to fall for her, but I did. We were happy, and then she became pregnant. I decided I didn't want to work for The Company anymore, I was done with that. When he had you… you were so beautiful, Barbara was so happy…" he swallowed and clutched Amanda's hand tighter. "When you were just one years old, Barbara came to me, she looked sad and angry, I asked her what was wrong… then she just said she couldn't do this anymore. She kissed you on the cheek, and she just left."

Amanda blinked. "Just like that?"

He nodded, averting his gaze. "I tried looking for her, and eventually gave up. I believe she still lives in New York…" he said. "And we have to go there, sooner than later,"

Amanda's head pounded. "What? Why? Is it because – because of Noah?"

He couldn't look at her. "I have unfinished business there, Manda. Important business." He looked up, and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind Amanda's ear. "I tried to hide that world away from you, but you are special, Amanda. And it's time you get to know who you are." His thumb caressed her knuckles and he gazed at her, eyes sparkling. "Please don't make this any more difficult, Amanda. We have to leave; we have to leave Australia…"

Amanda's whole demeanour changed. She squeezed his hand and gave him an assuring smile, signifying that she understood. The fact that there was an entirely new world waiting for her, people just like her made her feel… like she belonged. She wasn't crazy; she understood why her father wanted to protect her. Because with great power came great responsibility, right?

"I'll always be on your side, Dad. Always," she said. "So after all, I don't have schizophrenia?" she smiled coyly.

He laughed dryly. "Sorry about that, Manda. I'm so sorry," he kissed her forehead. "We have to leave everything behind. Something big is going to happen,"

She hugged her dad, tight. He smelled like the sun. "As long as we're together,"

_Love you, Mandy. _The voice in her head spoke, quietly and sadly.

"I love you too, Dad," she whispered.


	7. Volume One, Chapter 7: Death Kiss

With just a brush of her lips against another, their life force will gradually be swept away with only a fleeting minute. Death will greet them when she kisses them with her red wine lips, her soft and dangerous lips leaving them wide-eyed and lifeless. That's who she was, Eva Mortem, the bringer of death. She was The Death Kiss, and she led a group of evolved humans to mend the city of New York and to bring upon justice. Little do they know justice can bring upon destruction when one is intended to take over and create a new face of good. Eva Mortem… on the brink between good and evil, healing and killing, her power can do both; to heal the mind and the wounded. Albeit which one will triumph, will her good overpower the evil that exists within her?

The incident that arose in the Citibank was resolved, and they weren't identified because they had left the bank in a flash and had quickly fixed the situation with the burglars. The culprits were killed, the four burglars had made a mess and Eva's group had come to seek justice. The damaged was done; there were casualties. But always on the line of war there must be death in order for the war to end for the good side. But Eva would do anything for the good side to beat the bad. But why didn't she feel a flame of regret? Surely if you feel any form of remorse, you are human…

They all went home after that. If you could call it a home; they all resided in an underground abandoned station, south down Second Avenue and underneath the traffic across Queens Midtown tunnel.

The thoughts drained out of her mind as she sat back in the cool underground room, her fingers tapping on the table as she watched the unwired television – courtesy of Ben, 'The Electroman' (as she liked to call him) – the news was on, the reporter stating a demise that occurred in near-Pennsylvania, claiming that the death of the young man was unknown, although there had been a rapid increase of electromagnetic radiation and kinetic light that caused the train to partially be burned out. Many of the witnesses are treated for eye damage and the suspect is unidentified, though has been claimed to be a young woman.

"It's her," Eva whispered, her voice slightly echoing in the small, musty room. Her long dark brown tresses with streaks of silver fell down her shoulders as she stood up, clad in her best fighting suit – tight black halter top with a leather vest, tight-low rise hip hugging jeans, knee high black stiletto heeled boots and lips the colour of deep wine.

Just then, Ben entered the room. He held his helmet mask in the crook of his arm; wore dark cargo pants and looked dangerously attractive, his white-blonde hair falling into his crystal blue eyes. He was unnaturally pale. "Who's her? The girl you've been obsessing about ever since we formed this group?" Eva had her back toward him, watching the television.

Eva slowly turned around. Her eyes were two different colours; her right eye was a dazzling blue, and her left was muddy brown. She fixed him with a cold stare; Ben was used to her icy demeanour, and she said, "Yes it's her. She had killed someone, inadvertently of course,"

He grinned, his eyes twinkled. "So, who is this girl?" he ambled his way toward Eva, his boots clinking against the stony floor. He put both hands on her waist and leaned in, his breath hot on her face, "_Huh_?" he whispered.

She clutched his hands and pulled them away forcefully. "Stop," she said harshly. "Not now,"

His smile slipped and his fingers sparked a small bolt of blue electricity between them, playing with them. "What's wrong?" he frowned. "Is it because we were on the news? They didn't see us, _c'mon_, they're calling us vigilantes!" he chuckled uneasily as he searched her face; Eva's eyebrows were knitted together.

She turned away from his, pacing the room, remaining impassive.

Ben sighed as Meg (aka Stryker – she had an abnormal ability of rapid agility and strength) and Jeremy (aka Dasher – who acquired the ability to teleport) walked into the room, clad in their fighting gear. Meg wore a tight red jumpsuit which complimented her blonde hair and bright red lips. Jeremy wore his favourite black baseball hat, clad in his black leather jacket and jeans, a dagger in a hilt lay in his front pocket.

"What's up, guys?" Meg said, nodding to Ben. "What's with the serious faces?" she arched a perfect blonde eyebrow, exchanging a glance with her boyfriend, Jeremy, who matched her perplexed face.

` Eva turned toward them. "I have to find her, bring her here and tell her what she is, how powerful she is becoming."

"Im confused," Jeremy said dumbly. "_She?"_

"It's the girl… the one she ordered us to spy on for the last couple weeks, The one she's _obsessed_ with," Ben replied, avoiding Eva's scowl.

Comprehension dawned on both Meg and Jeremy's face. They understood. "So, who is she, Eva? You haven't told us yet and Katsu and Johnny have theorised she's your ex-lesbian lover," Meg said, rolling her eyes. "They seriously have started to ship you both, I don't even know what shipping is!"

Jeremy suddenly appeared behind her, not even seconds ago he was by the table. "You don't know what shipping is?" he demanded. Meg yelped and clutched at her chest, "JER!" she screeched and brought her hand to slap him, although he took it as a high-five and teleported across the room, next to Eva. Eva didn't flinch.

"_Anyway,"_ Ben said. "What's so important about her? Are her powers even more powerful than ours and yours?"

"Yes," Eva said with no hesitation. "Much, much more powerful… and I am Life and Death itself,"

Jeremy rolled his eyes. Eva could be so poetic.

Electricity cackled between Ben's fingers. "Really?" he said gravelly. "I beg to differ, honestly Eva, you are…" he grinned, "Much more gifted than anyone in our squad."

"Don't say that," Eva warned, her blue and brown eye flashing despite the different colours.

"Y_eah_," Jeremy added, and teleported behind Ben and swiped his helmet mask.

Ben growled at him and brought both hands up, electricity playing between his splayed fingers. Jeremy paled and winced, handing it back with caution. "Relax, buddy," he cooed shakily.

Meg yanked Jeremy back, shooting him a look. Meanwhile, Eva had been standing there watching with amusement. Then she remembered about the girl, and what she was going to do about her. She pushed the thought away and brought up the topic of what was more important.

"You all on track on the whereabouts of Emma Coolidge?" she asks them with an air of determination and power.

Meg spoke, her back straight. Her long blonde hair was up in a ponytail. "Yes, still working at the hospital with her mom," she said. "Her power has been growing ever since that wretched Samuel Sullivan and his carnival escapades," she sneered. "When do we plan on killing her? Honestly, she's her Father's daughter after all, his blood running in her veins,"

"Not now," Eva snapped. "It's too early and please don't bring up her Father, that bastard is thankfully long gone."

"Yeah, you killed him," Ben said simply.

"Yeah, he had it comin.' That swine doesn't get away with using an innocent baby as a lab rat and stealing her away from her parents," Jeremy seethed. "Eva is strong and all these years she has helped us from The Company's eye, we should be grateful."

Meg inched uneasily on her foot. She felt an involuntary stab of jealousy. "Yeah…"

"Alright," Eva says, pacing around again, and then she stops, facing them all. "Don't worry about me, I will get rid of her soon enough. But first… there is someone you must be aware of, his name is Peter Petrelli."

"I know him," Meg said. "Nathan Petrelli – the Senator that died – that's his brother, right?"

Eva nodded. "He is a powerful evolved human, and I have a feeling that soon enough he will gain what he has lost… and he will ruin us all. Either you get rid of him, or persuade him to join us. I know that he wants to do good, and I admire that."

"I can do it," Ben grunted.

"I'll come too," Jeremy supplied. Ben shot him a questioning look. "In case we need to flee, I'll be the quickest you'll ever get."

Ben nodded silently. "Okay, then," Eva said, looking up at the television which was now turned off. "That's settled."

"What of Sylar?" Meg asked. Ben and Jeremy glanced at Eva curiously.

Eva chuckled, though there was no warmth in it, only sheer amusement. "Oh, don't mind him, he is long gone," she said, smiling. "He is deluding himself into thinking he can change. He's no threat, he's nothing."

Meg bit her lip and nodded. "Oh – and did you see the news? Of the girl? I think she's one of us."

Ben looked at Eva. "Who is it, Eva?" he said quietly. "Who is the girl you've been so obsessed with? All she ever does is go home to her parents who are frail and ill, takes care of them. How is she any special?"

Meg said squeakily, "Oh. That's her?"

"Who is she, Eva?" Ben repeated, walking toward her.

There was a stretched silence. The only sounds were the rumble underneath where all the others were. Probably fighting with their newly acquired weapons. Eva stood, clad in black, her red wine lips and eyes staring at – if possible – all at them once. Then she spoke in her ethereal and cold voice, though this time her voice was laced with an odd affection, one Ben hadn't heard before –

"She's my sister,"


	8. Volume One, Chapter 8: Drift

To fool oneself into thinking everything would be the same will only lead to hollowness. For Claire, nothing will ever be the same ever since that night. She had pondered, contemplated repeatedly, that if what she had done was a mistake to learn from or… Well, she didn't know. But she wanted all that to change – to make amends for that mistake. She guessed that if she reconciled with her loved ones, that things would be okay; that things will spread into an even, fine line and everything would be okay. So, putting all the things that Noah has told her about the forthcoming danger at the back of her mind, she went out with Gretchen to the movies.

It went fine. They both had a great time, things went smoothly. Though Claire could feel that something was missing; like a piece was missing from a puzzle... Not only that, she felt that between she and Gretchen, something had drifted away, she had drifted away to a void of nothingness. It felt that way. Although Claire didn't know why or how she felt that way.

Driving down the dark, silent street toward her Apartment, Claire sat in the passenger seat looking out the window, the city lights gleaming in her zircon eyes. She fiddled with the silver necklace with the amethyst pendant on it, a gift from Nathan Petrelli, her biological father. Thinking about him sends a sharp pain of grief. Although on the outside she looked fine, but underneath her exterior of toughness lived a fragile girl, broken and afraid of the smaller things, a dark hole present in her heart of the pain of losing Nathan; every night before bed she dreamed of him and woke up screaming in her pillow, her sobs muffled in the midst. Greif and pain was embedded everywhere, already taking over her heart and soul; Sometimes it was hard to breathe whenever she thought of Nathan and Meredith. Her biological parents whom left too early when Claire was growing too attached to them.

"Claire," Gretchen said quietly, interrupting Claire's train of thought. "Claire, you okay?"

Claire sat up abruptly at her voice. "What?"

Gretchen frowned, eyebrows knitting together. Claire hadn't realised they have arrived at her apartment. Claire blinked as Gretchen leaned over the console. "You're crying," she whispered, bringing her hand up and dragging the pad of her thumb beneath Claire's eye.

"What?" Claire repeated. She wiped furiously at her own eyes, hating herself for even crying. She huffed ruggedly when Gretchen brought a hand to pat her, or whatever. "Im fine," she insisted, rather harshly. "I'm okay." Though she wasn't.

"No you're not," Gretchen said, unbuckling her seatbelt. Claire did the same. "Tell me what's wrong."

Claire didn't want to burden Gretchen with her dark thoughts. She didn't like relying or depending on anyone. She was in this alone, in this strange world. "I think we need to talk," she said, looking down at her hands.

Gretchen's big green eyes full of worry and pity glanced down at Claire's hands, and impulsively she grabbed them. Claire's hands were cold. "You can tell me anything," she said.

Claire slowly looked up and instantly regretted it. The look in Gretchen's eyes… Claire released her hands from Gretchen's grasp. "Us," she said quietly. "I… I don't know what I'm doing and I don't want to hurt you."

Gretchen's face was contorted in hurt as she looked down at her hands. Her brown hair was hanging over her pale face, framing her. She was beautiful, Claire thought. And a beautiful face wasn't meant to look hurt. "You don't like us? What am I doing wrong…? Please tell me, Claire." Her voice was imploring. "You did nothing wrong," Claire urged her to understand. She tipped Gretchen's chin up with her finger; they were now looking at each other. "But… I need you to stop coming here, to New York. The drive here from Virginia is long, Gretchen. I live here now, this is my home. Odessa… is a lost memory to me now," she said. "I'm not going to college anymore."

"What?" Gretchen searched her face. "Why not? Claire!"

"We can't be…" Claire's voice slipped away.

"I thought… thought you had feelings for me, like I do for you."

Claire shook her head. "I didn't want to hurt you. You're my best friend, Gretch."

"But that's all we were going to be…" Gretchen said. "_Friends_." The word was like venom to her, and she spluttered it.

"I'm sorry."

Gretchen's eyes welled with tears. Claire spoke, "You have to stop coming here and seeing me. Go to school, live your life without having anything to deal with this craziness. Please, for me."

It was the hardest thing she had ever had to do. Although regret was gnawing away at her, she felt that her decision was reasonable and final. The fact that danger was imminent; Claire didn't want Gretchen to be collateral damage on her behalf. She had to be left out of this, for good. Now, Noah was telling Claire about the paintings that Matt had created, due to his ability to see the future through drawing, it was accurate and the paintings didn't look so promising. Her father had mentioned that his ex-co-worker from The Company was arriving here from Australia to discuss matters. She appreciated her father was keeping her updated, saying that the vigilantes on the news were beyond vigilantes. They were like her, he had said.

They were at home when her phone had rung. There was laughter in the room from Noah and Lauren; they seemed to be spending more time together. Claire picked up her phone and walked to the kitchen, it was unknown caller, and she reluctantly tapped answer. "Hello?"

There was a series of breathing on the other line.

"Hello?" she repeated.

The line ended.

She raised her eyebrows. _Weird_, she thought.

"Who was that?" Noah asked, padding his way into the kitchen.

"I don't know," she told him, looking down at her phone with an odd look. "All I heard was breathing noises."

His eyebrows scrunched together and his horn-rimmed glasses reflected Claire's face, her blonde hair was bright in the limelight. "Weird," he said, matching her exact thoughts. "Anyway, Claire. Peter called, and we've discussed matters. You need to talk to him."

"He hasn't talked to me ever since, Dad. I had figured he hated me or something," she explained, her voice dripping contrition.

"He doesn't, Clairebear." He walked to her and tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "He's your uncle, and you're pushing him away."

Her lips quirked up and it hurt to smile. "I seem to be doing that a lot, lately."

"Sometimes it's for the best," he said as Lauren walked in, touching Noahs arm with a smile. Noah smiled, his eyes brimming with affection as he left the room with Lauren, not before telling Claire: "Talk to him, okay?" he said.

"I will," she replied, nodding.

There was no line of normalcy. Not in her world.


	9. Volume One, Chapter 9: Unbecoming

Amanda had a dream. It wasn't exactly a nightmare; it was more of a warning. And despite the fogginess in her brain and the lack of memory, she knew, indeed, that it wasn't a normal dream. She nearly scoffed at the use of words; 'normal' was hardly a word she used to describe anything nowadays. It seemed so foreign to her – obsolete, redundant. The word itself sounded strange to her mouth. It tasted like metallic.

When she woke up from that dream – her mind was full of cloudy and erratic images – they were faded although she could have easily acknowledged the wisp of blonde hair, the beautiful face that she sometimes saw in herself. The voices too – but not the voices that came from telepathy, it was the words from the dream that were uttered by the woman. Although she couldn't distinguish what the words meant and how they formed the sentence together to be understood, she knew it was important.

She was sweating. Her face was pale and drenched in perspiration, wild hair plastered all over her face. Eyes wide in confusion and utter fear, she clutched the armrests of the seat. She was faintly aware of the sounds of the inflight announcements, "_Ladies and Gentlemen welcome to John Kennedy International Airport. Local time is 4:35PM… We remind you to please wait until you are inside the terminal to use…" _

"Manda, Manda, breathe. Are you okay?" She heard her Dad say. She shook her head quickly, taking long and deep controlled breaths. She was at least thankful for the mute of voices in her head for now, but that dream… It had been something else.

Amanda realised that she was trembling from head to foot; she felt an aching pain somewhere on the side of her face, and felt numbness down her arms. She wiped at her eyes fiercely, shaking off the tension in her body. "Dad," she whispered hoarsely, feeling the ache in the pit of her stomach. She hid behind her hands as she talked.

"What is it Manda? Look at me." He gingerly removed her hands away from her face to get a better look at her. He looked weary and alert all the same. "Is it the voices? Talk to me."

She sat stoically in her seat but her body felt like it was vibrating as passengers got up from their seats in the plane. "I saw her… Dad, I saw my mom. In my dream…" she said quietly, pale.

He blanched, his dark eyes turning darker as his skin turned lighter. He swallowed. "It was just a dream, Amanda. You don't have to worry." His face betrayed his voice, though. He knew that the world was a crazy place and that even the most trivial things can have such a bigger meaning behind it. There were so many questions left unanswered to the world. If science was an obscurity before, it was more unclear in this generation. Delving deeper into the unknown can have its fair share of consequences.

"No, Dad," she whispered, looking at a spot at the front of the plane. Everything was hazy yet so clear. "Danger… danger is coming. _Light and darkness shall merge and the world would become an empty space. The sky… the sky is not falling, rather it is rising with ashes and bones_," she recited, blinking. The words were jumbled in her dream and kept repeating itself over and over. Blonde hair… pale, pale eyes flashing and flashing and doubling and doubling. Then, at last, she repeated the last words of the dream and her mom, red lips opening while she uttered the finale, "Save the world, Amanda. I love you."

Her dad's eyes widened and abruptly he got up from his seat, opened the bag compartment above their seats with shaking hands, grabbed their suitcases and almost dropped them. He cursed, stood up and tersely held them in his hands that were gripped tight onto the suitcase handle. He turned around to look at is daughter, seeing the pain and trauma in her eyes that he so grew accustomed to, though never knew how to erase them and replace it with life. His face though, was contorted in sheer agony, eyes filled with tears. "Manda," he spoke in a low voice. "We'll talk about this later. Now, get up. It's time to go."

Amanda tried to take a peek into his thoughts, but strangely, all that she received was a silent hum. Nothing. Recently, she was somewhat attuned to the thoughts, although now she heard nothing at all. She searched his face, speculating any sign of pain. Nothing. She eventually gave up and looked out the little window of the plane; she saw the world in which she was now escaping to. Moving from home to another dimension and having to face a different world in her eyes, one she couldn't even begin to understand. Understanding things had come easy to her in the past but now, everything seemed to be misplaced, misinterpreted and undeniably crazy. Packing your bags and heading to New York to unleash all life's mysteries.

When she and her Father sat in the cab driving through 5th Avenue, heading to the hotel which they'll be staying at for the time being, everything was silent. Amanda looked out the window, the sun now drowning in the horizons and the sky a deep orange, she swore she had seen a man fly across her field of vision, arms outstretched and clad in black. Even though he was far from a distance, she caught a symbol at the back of his shirt that looked distinctively like a helix. When she turned around so quick to tell her father, he was too busy conversing on the phone.


	10. Volume One, Chapter 10: Found

When Diana began to see the colours, she was only sixteen. It was the day of the solar eclipse, and she was out with her friends studying for the finals exam. Though no one was studying, they were too awed by the eclipse to be doing much of anything. Diana was too. Perhaps she was far too more fascinated by it than her friends. She was wearing one of those welder goggles when she stared at the darkening sun in Pennsylvania. For all her life, she felt as if something was missing. And on that day, she knew that the pieces were coming together. So she turned her gaze skyward at the sun partially darkened by the moon as it passes around the Earth, awed. But then something happened afterward…

Everyone around her – her friends, the crowd outside of the library – were surrounded by a circle of colour. It overwhelmed her completely. That was the first time she passed out, and since then, the colours began to be something else. It was more like a sense of solace to her rather than a terrifying thing. She grew accustomed to the colours, welcomed it, it kept her bright and happy. But then her father became sick, the day after the solar eclipse, and since then his sickness deteriorated, his hair fell out and doctors didn't know what to do. So, Diana, always coming home to tend to him while her mother worked hard, relinquished her social life in order to keep him company.

What she didn't know was that she was becoming stronger every day. There was much more to her than colour sight-seeing. This, she didn't know. But soon enough she will. As her power shifted inside her, dormant but fighting her immune system, she gradually felt herself coming together again; waking up from deep sleep. She heard the beeping of the IV machine and heart monitor, felt the crinkle of the linen sheets underneath her, became aware to her surroundings. It was like everything was heightened and she was almost afraid of opening her eyes to see the blinding colours. But when she did, she saw nothing. When she urged to see them, they appeared. When she pushed it back down, the colours dissipated.

She sat up, and heard an audible gasp beside her. It was her mother, tear-streaked and wide-eyed. Suddenly the hoard of nurses and doctors came rushing in, checking her blood pressure, her wrist, flashing penlights in her eyes. The doctors began asking questions, "How are you feeling?" "Do you feel nauseous at all, have a headache?" She remembered how she fell on the concrete… how she killed that man. To her consternation, no one suspected it was her. She didn't get caught. They don't know anything. She felt disappointed. She wanted to die.

The doctors, marvelled at her abrupt rousing, did some testing before they left. But then she received the dreadful news of her father's sudden demise. Her mother, blonde haired and resembling nothing physically alike to Diana, told her the news, sounding plaintive. "He passed away, dear. I'm so sorry." Diana didn't cry. Nor did she feel anything.

She cleared her throat, sounding hoarse. "Are we going back home?" Diana looked away. The ambience of the room was like any usual hospital room. Everything was sterile and white.

"We will. After you are discharged… But, if it's okay, I'd like to stay in New York for a while. It's too painful to go back home in that house."

Diana turned toward her, impassive. "Okay," she said. Then, quiet and reserved, she asked as she stared at her palms, "What was his cause of death?"

Her mother, with her dirty blonde hair and dark rimmed eyes, looked pityingly at her daughter. When she spoke, she sounded repentant. "The medical examiners found that some parts of him were exposed by foreign radiation… but they weren't too sure."

When her mother stood up after that, kissed Diana's forehead, and left to get some coffee, Diana sat in her bed, empty. Drained of life. She thought, long and hard, how life would be; carrying this burden of this anomaly she was born with. How could she live, knowing she had taken a man's life?

That night, she planned to turn herself in. But as she slept, whimpering silently as her body trembled from head to toe, this aching thought crept on her. She was not alone. There were others like her. She knew this too, but her regret and pain overweighed anything rational. She allowed herself to cry for the death of her father and the innocent man on the train, even though they shared no connection. It was like this with her parents. They cared and loved her, yes, but she felt like there was no strong link between them. She felt that there was more to the world than she knew.

_Peter_

Peter checked up on the girl who collapsed on the floor – Diana Maddox. She was sleeping in the bed, her parents weren't there. He heard of her father passing, and felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. Having been in a coma and losing her father must've hit hard on her consciousness. So he opened the door to her hospital room, and checked her clipboard to see if her vitals were fine. Her convalescence was remarkably good. She seemed to be doing okay.

He stood behind her, eyeing her with a hint of curiosity. Something so distinct seemed to be radiating off her, he didn't know what. She was pale with just a slight pink to her cheeks. She had choppy brown hair that fell about her pillow. Then he noticed her hand was sort of shaking. He spontaneously grasped them firmly but gently and at the contact with her hand, a sensation of warmth shot up his body; running up his veins. He kept his hold on her hand as a golden light erupted between their joined hands, spreading through the air around them. Peter, wide-eyed, stared at his hands. The feeling inside him was strong and was augmented by the intense heat of golden luminance that appeared between their palms.

Peter recoiled, dropped his hands and stepped back, staring at his hands in shock. Hastily, he whipped his head up, his brown eyes reflecting the amber-gold that he now saw surrounding Diana. Then it dawned on him, Diana was like him and he had just acquired her ability. At first, he thought she was like Emma. But she wasn't. She couldn't see sound with colour. She could see the colours of one's spirit. He hadn't met anyone like her. Then, he felt the turbulence of emotions that floored him – pain, regret, remorse, sorrow… that was all too potent that he fell to his knees with a gasp. It was a different kind of empathy, one he could not begin to understand. Then, it was like his body was on fire. And images began to flash before him. The painting. Of the girl with the golden aura. She was the girl in the painting.

She was still asleep while Peter's mind reeled. He stared at her. But then, selfishly, he got up and walked to the door. He turned toward her again, at her peaceful state, and began to choose the decision not to tell her what she is. It was better that way. Because it's better to believe you were crazy then to step into a world where the people you love die. Where sacrifice is the first and only option when it comes to survival. Maybe one day, she will find out of what she is. And how powerful she was. Because he felt it when he came to contact with her skin. She was far more powerful than anyone he's ever absorbed the power of. Then, he walked away from her room.

That way, she probably wouldn't be the girl in the painting, the key to the world's end. It was better that she didn't know. It was better for everyone. He thought about her as she left the hospital, seeing array of colours that lingered and surrounded everyone. At Angela's home, his mother, he was greeted in the living room by the group.

"Peter," Mohinder said. He stood up, reserved and professional.

He looked around the room. His mother stared back at him, lips pursed, dark eyes relentless. He saw the aura that surrounded her; a pale crimson. His gaze shifted to the rest of the room – Noah, a dark man in his mid-40's he didn't know, Lauren, Matt and Mohinder. Then he felt someone's presence, at the back of the room.

He stalked through the threshold, taking off his medic's jacket and throwing it carelessly on the sofa. His brown eyes were fixated on someone in particular. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Sylar, leaning against the wall, stepped forward, arms folded. "I'm just here for business, Peter. Nothing more and nothing less."

"Business my damn ass." Peter stepped in his direction but was barricaded by Noah's arm. "Don't, Peter," Noah warned. But Peter, recalcitrant, pushed him aside. "No," he said through gritted teeth. "What is he doing here? And why are we having a meeting with The Company?"

Noah sighed and sat back down, eyeing Peter through his horn-rimmed glasses. "You know why," he said. "We might know who were dealing with. These vigilantes…"

Mohinder spoke up. "My father, as you know, had records of evolved humans. We have here –" He picked up papers with identification photos on them. "Of the possible vigilantes."

"And _why_ is he here?" Peter nodded to Sylar. Even though Peter tolerated him after Nathan's death, knowing his murderer was still alive bothered him. He would do anything to tear out his throat. But Peter knew that killing was never the answer to his problems.

"Peter, trust me, his being here bothers us too. But we need more help than we can get right now." Lauren's voice silenced the room.

"She's right," Noah added. "Take a seat, Peter. Relax and listen to what we have to say."

Peter's self-control knitted back together. He calmed his breathing but never tore his eyes away from Sylar's dead ones as he sat down. Sylar's aura was different, he noticed. It was a swirl of colours ranging from dark red to green to purple. He shook his head. He picked up the pile of papers and sifted through the faces of evolved humans, looking for someone with blue eyes and an aura so gold.

Matt, sitting across from him, searched his face. His face was contorted in effort. "You found her," Matt said abruptly, eyes speculating every inch of Peter. "The girl… the one on the painting. I see her through you. Lying on the hospital bed…" His eyes widened. Everyone listened.

Peter glanced up at him through his lashes. He decided not to lie to a telepath, so he told them about Diana Maddox, about her power and how strong it was. That he left her for her own good.

"She's not in here," Mohinder said through his pile of papers. Sylar inched forward to the crowd inquisitively, eyes narrowed. "That's strange. My father has records of every evolved human."

"Are you sure?" the dark man beside Noah said.

"Yes, I'm certain," Mohinder replied. He sat back in frustration. "I can't find her name at all."

"So what are we going to do about her?" Lauren asked.

Peter sat back in concentration. If they planned to kill her, he had to do something. The Company back in the days was hardly merciful, but given the circumstances that unfolded a few months back, they had to be. No one needed another life taken by their hand on their conscience. There was nothing to gain but darkness and pain.

"We can't –" he began. But then a flurry of voices interrupted him. Voices of everyone around him – Noah, Lauren, Angela's…

_Comprise. That's what we need right now…_

_When does all this ever end?_

_This plan is going to be the end of us all. _

Peter's control slipped and broke. Sweat trickled down his face. He sat up with a gasp. "Mohinder –" he began. Everyone sat up in alarm. "Something's happening to me." A wash of a familiar feeling flooded through him. Something he thought he had lost when his ability was sucked away through his father's hand. He felt it in him. He felt the feeling he had once had in him again. But how was that possible?

He looked up at everyone and brought both his palms up to his shoulders to demonstrate the impossible. Then he saw it as he called upon it, absorbing the source of the power from within. Electricity crackled between his fingers, replaced by flames of fire that licked his fingers harmlessly. A grin formed on his mouth, his eyes filled with a sense of familiarity. "I think… I think my ability is back."


End file.
